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My Dad
By Nancy Lindquist | July 7, 2007
My dad feel down the stairs a couple weeks ago and he does not sound alright to me, on the phone. I know he’s eighty two, and I know he’s not as strong as he used to be, but it’s really got me worried and shaken.
I spent so much of my youth, wanting to be an adult and experience adult things. My mom spent a lot of time counseling me to enjoy my childhood. Too bad I knew it all and never bothered to listen. I spent a lot of time staring up at the sky, dreaming about marriage and being a parent myself someday. More time than I should have.
I clearly remember the late summer before seventh grade. I got an adorable wardrobe that year and, as far as I was concerned, a very adult wardrobe. A dirndle skirt in a subtle plaid, a white shirt with ruffles to go with it. High waisted jeans and a party dress. I loved that dress. It was blue velvet with white around the collar and I felt so beautiful in it. The truth was, I was awkward and must have looked like I was playing dress up, most of the time, but I loved the way I felt.
Seventh grade felt like a new start for me. I was going to Junior High and I’d watched way too many episodes of, The Brady Bunch. My reputation traveled to school along with me and I was pointed out as a too sensitive nerd within the space of hours. My hopes of popularity swirled down the drain of reality and I cried when I got home. In my dirndle skirt, laying across my bed and knew, just knew that being an adult was way better than being a pre-teen.
I’m there now. In my house, with my boys and my husband. I don’t long for my youth back, but I do miss the cozy feeling of a safe place to cry and parents who would take care of me. Now, I’m the one who hands out advice and buys the school clothes. Some days, I don’t think I’m ready.
